


I'm Sure It Would Be Magical

by treasuredleisure



Category: Shame (2011), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Don't pretend you didn't want this, Doppleganger!Sex, Kink Meme, M/M, Sexy boys have sexy times, Slight Bondage, These boys are sluts, Threesome, Unmitigated Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-15
Updated: 2012-11-15
Packaged: 2017-11-18 17:56:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/563811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treasuredleisure/pseuds/treasuredleisure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for the following prompt: </p><p>  <i>So, Brandon at one point suggests that if he could live anywhere and be anything, he'd be a musician in the 1960s.</i> <br/><i>What I'd love is some story where Brandon manages that, and one night Charles and Erik happen in on whatever club Brandon's working in.</i><br/><i>What happens next, totally up to you author!anon. But you know, Brandon is a sex addict...</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Sure It Would Be Magical

**Author's Note:**

  * For [afrocurl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrocurl/gifts).



 

 

 

~*~ 

 

The mellow euphony is an invitation on its own. If velvet could be heard; this would be it. A sound that matches the thrumming of a heart, the tapping of shoes, the ticking of a clock. The slow addition of a saxophone with its sensual call allows the segue for the sibilant vibrations of the symbols on the drum kit.

It's redolent of coffee and conversation in this ambient setting, and having presumably grazed over the few sated minds inside, Charles can barely keep himself from heading towards the door and ambling inward. 

Erik finds that he can most definitely let Charles buy him a drink or two, given that the success of recruitment still leave remnants of an elated buzz in the pit of his stomach.

And then there's Charles, with his infectious demeanour and intoxicating charm - who he could almost never say no to. So the figurative bonds between them strengthen as he allows himself to follow through and seek the telepath. 

Charles has settled on a seat that faces the musicians on the raised platform. 

The interior is all round-edged and curved, with polished vinyl and mahogany. Erik can't say he's unimpressed with Charles's choice - frankly, they're in the middle of nowhere in the last hours of the day and a deficiency of native money has been leaving them with few options. Charles persistently - well, stubbornly if you ask Erik - refuses to manipulate minds into oblivion over pay checks, and disapproves of Erik's offer to morph the coins in his pocket to ones of use. 

The amber lighting they're illuminated by does wonders for Charles's face and nothing for Erik's resistance. His cerulean blue eyes look glazed and hypnotic; enthralled with the sight in front of him. Erik's eyes are too occupied to see what Charles is gawking at, though he can clearly tell that whatever it is - Charles likes it.

 

 

 

* * *

 

The resemblance is absurd. Charles has to actually flit tentatively over the mind of the piano player, and then Erik beside him at the table, to ensure it's not trickery or another shape-shifter like Raven. Hell, he'd doubted it was Raven herself for a few moments, given how strangely she had been acting lately.  
But no, Erik is Erik and the man sitting in front of the piano with deft fingers gliding over keys is...  
  
 _Brandon._  
  
He doesn't want to revisit the mind so singly coordinated on the music he's beautifully delivering. Parts of his brain were humming, brimming with comfortable fluidity and ingrained harmonies he referred to reflexively. _Ah_ , a musicians' mind. Colourful and confident, overflowing musical prowess and seamless fruition.  
  
Completely different from Erik's, and yet their physical similitude is astonishing. Charles wants to turn to tell Erik about his accomplished find of his doppelgänger, but the musical piece has ended abruptly and an eruption of applause catches him off guard. The musicians side step from their instruments for a curt bow, some tipping hats, and Charles watches engrossed, as Brandon's thin lips curve timidly to smile in gratitude. Charles begins to remember the strange incident of meeting Johnny Storm a day after being introduced to Steve Rogers, and how their striking likeness kept Charles feeling slightly befuddled. 

  
Then all recollections of blonde Americans fleet from his thoughts when sizzling intentions settle into the front of his mind like hot coals. There are the continual waves of admiration he receives from Erik - which he enjoys pretending to be unknowing of - and another heated mind that beckons wildly for Charles's attention, but with an air of experience and desperation. It's an internal plead; but on knees, with tied hands and pouted lips. It's vaguely reminiscent of a mind he's already hovered over, and it doesn't take long for Charles to look up and find eyes he's seen before displaying an expression he's never seen.   
  
Charles takes a deep breath that stands as a test to his lung's capacity. Erik looks quizzically at the brunette, brows raised in question.  
  
"You all right? You look... flustered."

A few moments of dressing himself back in composure pass before he replies.

"Mmm... hmm..." 

He stands from the chair, towering over Erik as he looks manically around them for the bar. 

"Want a drink?" he absentmindedly asks the metal-bender.

"We have no money," he gruffly retorts.

"Don't be silly."

  
Then he lopes over to the distant bar, knocking a few chairs askew as he does so, before standing with his waist pressed against the counter. He should have worn more layers, he thinks self-deprecatingly when he cranes his neck to look for the bartender. Layers are his friends, they make him feel like a wrapped present as opposed to a bare specimen - even if he is wearing a white dress shirt and grey slacks. He looks down at his shirt collar and considers closing the lowermost button of the three that are open, and moves his fingers to put the plan into action when he's jolted by profoundly suggestive innuendos. Then, a succession of images rave for his attention, all featuring his own self. Curiosity gets him, and he finds himself diving into a visual maelstrom of carnal imagery. He sees his own pert arse in a compromising position over the counter top, the veins and freckles of his arm from where they're exposed by rolled up sleeves, and his own pale skin from the pleased perception of an unruly mind. His fingers pause from where they're perched over fabric, and drop promptly when he hears the deep voice of a man by his ear,

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

 

* * *

 

That’s the best thing about being a musician. 

  
Up on the platform, the sight is engaging. They’re all overcome with wonder; eyes training over you to watch you as you are in your element. And of course, Brandon relishes the glory of being watched in awestruck amazement.  
  
Especially because sometimes, the watchers tend to be as entrancingly beautiful as the man standing at the bar.   
It gives all kind of leverage – their esteem of you has propelled within the span of the musical piece. They feel like they’ve known you all their life, they want to know more about you, they want to hear your story – it’s hardly ever futile. Brandon isn’t going to be imprudent and call the career he loves an elaborate way of seducing his next bed companion, but hell it helps that the two coincide.  
  
And Brandon’s going to need all the help he can get with this beautiful brunette.   
Brandon could feel the intensity of those cerulean blue eyes on him and only him every time he had looked up.   
  
When the customary applause fades, the man stands to leave his seat. He charges towards the bar and leans over the countertop, practically beckoning for attention. He’s a few inches shorter than Brandon himself, but that might just be perfect. He has a brick build, accentuated insufficiently by his modest clothing.   
His arse fills out the curve of his slacks in such a delightful way, that Brandon finds himself sauntering after him on impulse. His impeccably pristine white shirt is rolled up from the sleeves, revealing enough pale, freckle-dotted skin to make Brandon’s head cloud with desire. The man seems to be hearing something or the other, because he’s paused in motion. When Brandon comes closer to see what he’s doing, he’s never wanted more to prevent it from happening. That valley of pale skin is enticing, sinful to cover up – Brandon can’t let a man so enamouring be driven by the demands of his self-consciousness.   
  
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Brandon finds himself purring into the man’s ear. It’s taking a staggering amount of self-control not to take advantage of their size difference and push him up against the counter now – dignity be damned. This man is so exquisite, there’s no way he doesn’t have a similar effect on half the population. He’s striking with allure he carries on him like he’s sculpted for sore eyes.   
  
The man’s hands drop to his sides. He turns slowly to meet Brandon with a gaze.  
  
He must be in his late twenty’s. He has a boyish face, framed with dark floppy hair that Brandon would imagine feels softer than it looks. He has a light pink blush creeping up his cheeks – Brandon savours it, remembers it. When the shorter man runs a pink tongue across his plush lips – ever so slowly – Brandon seems to lose all hope of ever being able to string a propositioning question to take this man home, given that all his blood has promptly migrated south.   
Christ, how he foolishly hopes this man can read minds.   
  
The man sniggers, holding his knuckles up to press them against his lips.  
  
God – _no_ , Brandon thinks. _He_ wants to do that. _He_ wants to lick his lips for him, _he_ wants to press up against his mouth, _he_ wants to—  
  
“So what would you do, if you were me?” the man’s rich voice cuts into his reverie. Brandon takes in a deep breath, remembering all of a sudden how he had opened conversation. Christ, a foreign accent. Brandon might just be trembling a little. His clammy hands make fists.  
  
“I’d come home with me.”  
  
A coherent sentence. That itself is commendable. Especially considering how thick his tongue feels. Hell, everything feels thick. The atmosphere that’s infused with this man’s aura, the masculine musk exuding from the man’s collarbone, Brandon’s throbbing—  
  
“I have a friend.”  
  
Said friend is currently swaggering over, his predatory gaze locked on the blue-eyed man of Brandon’s next few fantasies. And said friend is uncannily handsome himself.   
  
Well then.   
  
  
Brandon could see the ruby red colour of his lips from up on the platform – but here, standing just a small distance from him, he can see their fullness and just how terribly pretty they are. Surely, he can’t be the only one going insane with lust.

 

* * *

 

Erik is about to go absolutely insane.  
  
He supposes he should by now, be used to Charles wondering off to sate his drinking urges. But he’s been disappeared for far too long, and this is not the lone celebration he was anticipating. Erik’s still not very good at calling for Charles with his mind, and it still tends to scare him that Charles can pick up on him so easily. That might as well be an invitation for Charles to rummage through his mind and pluck out all of those suppressed feelings.   
In light of those feelings, he steps up from his seat and whirls to look for the telepath. The bar along the side is unmanned, and yet Charles is standing leisurely against the counter. But it turns out there are far more obscure things to worry about, like why the hell is there a man breathing down his neck?  
  
Erik marches forward, ready to sweep Charles away from the suit-clad man forever. He stops when they both turn around; the man with a drinking gaze that lazily roams over his body, and Charles with – more or less the same stance, only he looks more wary.   
  
Then Charles leans forward to whisper something into the man’s ear before coming over to Erik. He takes Erik by the shoulders and manoeuvers him out of the man’s earshot. Erik passes the man a menacing glare.  
  
“Erik, Brandon over there,” he begins, turning briefly to look at the man. Erik feels himself heating up; both from Charles’s tentative touch, and from the brazen smirk the man dares to direct at Charles. “Would like to take us somewhere…”  
  
“Where?” he quips, with more force than is necessary.  
  
“To a mutant.”  
  
Despite of the decisiveness that Charles’s answer is devoid of, Erik releases his breath and a little bit of his tension.   
  
 _Ah._  He had been fretting over a professional conversation. Charles must have read his mind, known what he knew, and of course it’s not uncommon to find men flirting with Charles, endeared by his precociousness.   
  
“Let’s go then,” Erik says bluntly, fixing Brandon with a watchful stare. He waits until Charles walks first so he can walk level with Brandon.   
  
An amused smile sits gracefully on Charles’s face as they walk out of the small venue. The moon light bathes his skin in a way that makes Erik’s heart drum a little bit faster. Charles turns to look at Erik with a sweet smile in his eyes.  
  
“What kind of talent should I expect?” Erik inquires aloud, receiving a tight-lipped grin from Brandon by his side. He shoots him an impassive look back.  
  
“Mind-blowing,” Brandon leers, looking straight at Erik.   
  
“I would say Charles already has that covered,” he raises a brow, fully expecting a bashful surge of gratitude from Charles for the compliment, but Charles is  _giggling._  
  
Erik frowns and turns to look at Brandon –  _he_  surely must know Charles is a telepath and understand the allusion – but he’s red-faced and beaming like an excited idiot.   
  
There's definitely something suspicious about this man.

 

* * *

 

The confusion is oddly electrifying.   
  
Charles had never lied to Erik before. He hates to have done so more than he can express, but it’s better than manipulating his mind into compliance. Much better, he assures himself.   
  
Besides, this isn’t particularly scandalous – Charles and Erik have spent the last few weeks laboriously travelling from city to city from one troubled individual to another. A celebratory night is owed to them, and he doesn’t want to hear Erik talk them out of it.   
  
Not when Brandon here is so damn keen.  
  
Charles brushes over Brandon’s mind to make sure they should continue going straight down the road. The musician’s mind is thrumming with aroused anticipation. There’s not the least shred of deceitful intent in any corner of his mind, should Erik need to be forewarned. The telepath can’t help himself from reading Brandon’s delicious surface thoughts.   
  
He’s never had two men over before. He’s never seen such a perfect shaped arse on a man before – Charles lets himself blush for a while – and he’s incredibly glad he lives just at the next corner because he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to be decently behaved around such attractive company.   
  
Brandon is now walking ahead of Charles to lead the two of them to his apartment. Charles takes this opportunity to brush his hand against Erik’s.   
Erik’s head whips downward from where it was fixed on the metal intricacies of Brandon’s keyhole, memorising it. He looks up at Charles with question in his eyes.   
  
 _Oh, Erik. You have no idea, do you?_  
  
Because really, if he had the liberty of peering into Brandon’s mind himself, he may have sprung a nose bleed.   
  
Brandon courteously leads the two mutants up the stairs and into his rooms. He’s extricating clothing on his way there, Charles notes. His scarf is unravelling from his neck as he takes his shoes off. Brandon is extremely pleased with Erik’s – alleged – eagerness to join the party, and he’s brimming with adrenalin.   
Erik is bemusedly watching Brandon finger the buttons of his waistcoat with one hand and using the other to open the door of his bedroom. The German is overtly spinning around in the lounge, looking for what he has come for.   
  
But Charles can’t ready the words to summon him inside the master bedroom because Brandon has slammed his body against the wall of it. He whimpers as a hot, waiting mouth presses its lips against his own, tongue leisurely swiping against his bottom lip for passage. With a moan, Charles grants access and  _oh boy_  does this man know what he’s doing. Charles moves his unsteady hands to skim them across Brandon’s lithe body, feeling the grooves of muscles—  
  
“HEY! Get off him!”  
  
Brandon’s mouth leaves Charles’s in an instant, eliciting a disapproving whine from the telepath.  
  
Erik’s jaw is taut in rage and bewilderment, glaring at Brandon as he brushes the back of his hand across his mouth with a devilish grin.  
  
“It’s alright, Erik,” Charles asserts with the wave of a hand. Then he breaks the distance between himself and the musician and captures his mouth again, this time with fingers working adeptly at his buttons.  
  
Erik looks aghast.  
  
“W-What are you  _doing_  Charles?”  
  
“Him, soon,” Charles breaks the kiss with a wet sound to say. “Don’t worry, Erik.” He’s looking at Brandon even as he’s regarding the other man. Christ – Charles thinks – this man is like a racier, obscene version of Erik. Then, without second thought, he clears his throat to instruct, “Brandon – kiss Erik.”

Now, Erik looks petrified. He blinks at the American who advances towards him on command, ready to ravage his mouth.   
  
Brandon has now cornered Erik on the other wall, both of their chests heaving heavily. Brandon’s hand comes to rest at Erik’s arm, the other about to hold Erik’s face—  
  
“ _Wait_ ,” comes Charles’s panicked voice. “Kiss him slowly, Brandon. Rough, but slow. He likes it like that.”

The corner of Brandon’s mouth twitches upward before he rests his mouth – slowly – on Erik’s, pushing hard at the man’s lips. Erik’s eyes flutter shut, and Charles can tell he’s failing at his fight to resist the kiss because now the metal in the room is humming in synch with Erik’s abandon.   
  
Charles makes mental note to remember this image forever, because this just might be the cause of his death. Eyes not leaving the two of them once, he starts unbuttoning his shirt, albeit his fingers hardly reach where he wants them to, given the glorious distraction.   
He watches Brandon’s tongue dive inside Erik’s slowly parting lips, both his hands now lifting to cradle Erik’s face as he exerts force into the kiss, turning his head with the rough stroke of his expert tongue and drawing Erik’s breath, then a guttural groan, then a muffled cry.  
  
Charles comes up behind Brandon and kisses his neck as he undresses him out of his dress shirt, listening intently to the sounds of Erik’s moans. Brandon breaks the kiss, to the dismay of all three men, to gasp aloud from the feel of Charles’s fingers slithering over the bare skin of his torso. Charles tugs his shirt off and discards it on the ground before doing the same to his own. His eyes flit to Erik, who is catching his breath from a marathon, and yet watching Charles with appalled interest. Charles holds Erik’s gaze as he presses his naked chest against Brandon’s back and places wet kisses along his shoulder blade. 

Brandon turns to face Charles, then looks at the king-sized bed behind him. Charles does the same, inadvertently letting Brandon get an eyeful of creamy white skin. He buries his face into the stretch of neck exposed so unabashedly for the man, and Charles arches into the feel of tongue and teeth against his delicate skin. 

Unresisting, Brandon engulfs Charles in his arms, closing the escape of body heat, and lifts Charles from the floor. His legs reflexively wrap around Brandon’s torso.

He’s poured onto the bed with his chest now the target of Brandon’s hungry mouth. Charles lets his mouth fall open as Brandon pins him down by his hands and drags his tongue across his pectorals, gradually working his way up to his Adam’s apple.  
  
Erik’s mind is a carnival of incoherence. Charles doesn’t have to concentrate too hard – he couldn’t do so even if he tried; not with Brandon nipping at the sensitive spot behind his ear – to learn of the German profanities spilling from Erik’s thoughts. His obstinacy is transpiring into envy, and once again it’s not too difficult for Charles to establish how desperately Erik wants to be on the bed with them.   
  
Brandon can’t keep Charles in Erik’s head for long though. He marks the telepath with an enthusiastic kiss, before rolling off to venture towards the tube aptly placed on the bedside table. Charles sits up to look at Erik, and once he’s found his gaze, he tugs his bottom lip under his teeth and begins undoing his belt.  
  
“You sure you don’t want to join us?” Charles asks, gracefully divesting his slacks and shoes. He can see the metal on them shuddering. “Not to imply you’re incapable of finding your way back, love...” he muses, leaning into Brandon’s touch as he comes to kneel behind him in a similar position to his own. Brandon’s just as naked as Charles now, and he can feel the moist head of Brandon’s erection jutting against the curve of his arse. “But just how far do you think you’ll get…” Brandon’s slicked fingers have found Charles’s entrance, “… knowing what I’m doing here?”

Erik’s chest is rising and falling impatiently, his lips are still bruised with what ended too abruptly, and the clenching of his fists are leaving his knuckles white. Charles smirks and lets his head fall back on Brandon’s shoulder when he hears Erik’s jacket coming off.   
  
Those deft, capable fingers that were once pleasing crowds are now pleasing Charles. His milky white skin is tinted with shades of red – not quite as red as the tender mouth Brandon has captured with the lolling back of Charles’s head. His hips jerk forward when Brandon adds another finger to the two already inside, plunging inwards and outwards with augmented speed. When Charles lets out a loud, throaty moan, Brandon’s cock twitches against his skin and his hand comes around to press against his waist. His fingers stretch his hole further as they enter deeper; invited by the endless sounds of Charles’s moans, pants, gasps. Brandon’s fingers don’t have the calloused ingrains that Erik’s life have given him, but their smooth length is no less satisfying.   
  
Charles is beginning to think Erik is just going to sit and watch, which – is a joy in itself, because Charles has never been watched and he knows how much Erik loves to - but the sight of a  _naked_  Erik on his knees by the foot of the bed tells him otherwise.   
  
His envy has transformed into unearthly desire. He’s still looking up at the sinfully lustrous sight of Brandon fingering Charles from behind, both of their neglected cocks leaking onto the sky blue sheets. Charles looks from where Erik is level with his own erection to Brandon behind him, who indulges in the same glance with an entranced smile gracing his features.   
  
Charles runs his hand down the smooth skin of his thigh before reaching to hold Erik’s face. He bends downwards to kiss Erik’s mouth passionately, appreciative of his decision, and  _oh so glad._    
  
When Charles straightens again, it’s no longer Brandon’s fingers at his entrance – it’s his hard, wet cock slowly parting his cheeks to be let into his stretched hole. Just as Charles tips his head back and squeezes his eyes shut, Erik’s hot breath begins to tease the skin of his own pulsating cock. Then his mouth – which feels peculiarly like the same one on his jaw –  _dear GOD_  - closes around his wet shaft. Charles can’t hold back the loud whimpers of double pleasure; he cries out whorishly. Erik’s tongue is lapping at pre-cum and Brandon’s thrusts inside him are picking up pace. Charles is shivering, gooseflesh rising everywhere and leaving all areas of his skin hypersensitive. He places one hand on Erik’s shoulder and fists his other in his copper-coloured hair, eerily similar to Brandon’s. A deep thrust leaves Charles’s hips juddering forward in a motion that sends more of his length inside Erik. Erik takes more in nonetheless, his hands rising to hold Charles’s hips to control their thrusts in his mouth, in accordance with Brandon’s.   
  
Brandon’s thick member inside him is rubbing swiftly against Charles’s prostrate, and now the telepath is so far gone with the double stimulation that he doesn’t even know whose name to cry out.

He moans wantonly when Erik has devoured him whole and his cock begins to hit the back of his throat. The penetration from behind, the feel of a nudge against his prostrate, and then Erik’s entire mouth encompassing his cock and emitting vibrations with his groans leaves Charles on the verge of climactic heaven. He’s about to spill out amply any time soon, and when he spots that only one of Erik’s hands is holding his hips – the other is lasciviously pumping his  _own_  cock – he refrains from doing so.  
  
“You’re… so… damn…” Brandon is hissing close to Charles ear, his own thrusts becoming chasing and earnest.  _”Fuck.”_  
  
Charles on the other hand, still receiving pleasure while being on the peak of it, is not even half as verbally composed as Brandon. He still doesn’t know whose name to be moaning, and beyond his will he’s settling for, “Er… oh,  _Bran…_  —rrik, Christ, holy—shit—”  
  
He’s teetering on the brink. His hair is damp with sweat and Brandon is whispering into it,

“I’m—so… close.”  
  
Then Charles seeks both Brandon and Erik’s minds, alike with the ecstatic rapture rippling through their bodies, and locates their pleasure centres. He initiates the release of more endorphins and clings to the surge of impending orgasm with his mind, all three of them about a fraction away from exploding, and lets go of his own resistance in concurrence with the release of his hold on the two other men’s orgasms. In unison, they spill their seed; Charles mentally sharing shocks of his own amplified pleasure to the other two men as they shudder from the inexplicably enhanced sensation.   
  
Charles’s ejaculate streams down Erik’s throat, his own spurting across his hand, and Brandon’s fills Charles from inside. Brandon’s call of Charles’s name comes out as a withering gasp. Charles turns his head to seal whimpering lips with a kiss.   
  
The poor thing hasn’t even a clue.  
  
Erik, on the other hand, is familiar with the telepathic tinkering that Charles unabashedly indulges in. And yet when Charles visits the man’s mind, he’s still shuddering from incredulity, having felt like he had shared the orgasm of two other people’s. His mouth comes off of Charles’s cock, and he wipes trails of saliva from his chin. Charles leans forward again, aiding Brandon’s removal from within him, and meets the metal-bender’s mouth with his own for a soothing kiss. 

The end of Erik’s large cock is still dripping onto his hand. Behind him, Brandon has collapsed onto the crumpled sheets. Charles can’t help but do the same, meekly thrilled by how both their bodies still allow space for another on the extravagantly sizeable bed.   
  
Basking in the afterglow of what Charles modestly perceives is the best orgasm Brandon has ever had, the musician looks radiant and somewhat gratified. Then he turns his head to Erik, who’s expelling a similar vivacity, but with a hand coated in ejaculate.   
  
“C’mere, Erik,” Charles breathes, splaying his hand across the unoccupied space on his other side. Erik looks from his hand to Charles’s reclined form on the bed. He pointedly gestures him over with the shake of his head.   
  
Erik complies, coming over to the bed with his hand haphazardly out in the air. Charles teases his bottom lip under his front teeth before lifting his hand from the bed and placing it on his chest. Under Erik’s gaze, he lets the buds of his fingertips caress the skin of his own flushed chest. Erik swallows.   
Charles continues running dainty fingers up and down the ivory valley between his nipples, before mentally commanding,  
  
 _Smother me, Erik._  
  
His breath hitches in his throat. He blinks at the telepath, looking somewhere between dumbstruck and love-struck, then does as he’s told.  
  
“You know, when you said  _mind-blowing,_  I didn’t really think I’d – wait – whoa—”  
  
Brandon’s sentence is abandoned midway in the air once he’s rolled over to witness the sight. Erik’s ejaculate is spread over Charles’s chest and neck, creamy white over a different creamy white, with Erik’s mouth claiming Charles’s in a heated, open-mouthed kiss. They’re slightly sloppy with the exorbitance of desire raging through their warm bodies – teeth occasionally clashing with teeth and noses colliding – but it’s deep and rapturous and they’re in a harmony that’s unparalleled. Then the kiss is broken for air, for gasps, for the tremored call of each other’s name…  
  
And then of course, there’s come smothering Charles’s delectable skin and Erik looks like he wants to do something about it.

 

Erik’s mouth is sinful.  
  
It travels ardently from Charles’s mouth to his neck, where his teeth sink into flesh and draw out laboured breaths from the telepath. Charles rests his hands on Erik’s back, strong arms enclosing around the young professor tightly. Erik’s tongue protrudes to lick off his own come from Charles’s heated skin. He savours the sight of veins divulging from beneath the tight skin of his milky white throat and doesn’t hesitate to go for a much coveted taste.   
  
Brandon is watching with fervent interest, though his thoughts are stuck at an impasse from what Charles can extrapolate. He squirms contentedly from the ticklish sensation of Erik’s stubble and hair against his skin and turns his head to get a better look of Brandon. Brandon’s eyes dart upwards to fix on Charles’s before he timidly moves his head down to descend his mouth onto his. It’s chaste at first, and Charles can tell it’s his coyness from the zealous display of affection between Erik and himself that has made him feel briefly like the intruder. Charles releases his hold on Erik to stroke Brandon’s face, clean-shaven and thus smooth. He whimpers into their kiss when Erik’s tongue brushes past his collarbone and then Brandon lifts his head to accompany Erik.  
  
In most aspects of lovemaking, Erik and Brandon are distinctly dissimilar. Brandon’s movements are always feeding an insatiable compulsion, like he’s addicted to the act and the pleasure he gains.   
Momentarily, Charles is most definitely not in a state to make any further deductions about the differences between these two men. The sweep of their tongues, the biting, sucking, kissing, nuzzling – is all in acknowledged unison, like they’ve been choreographed to synchronically make Charles's head spin, make him see stars and moan –  
  
 _“Ahhhh!”_  
  
-From the back of his throat, out from the partition of voluptuous red lips. Erik, who is rutting against Charles’s hip in languid circular motions, looks up from the saliva-glossed skin of the man underneath him to turn to Brandon –  
  
who is  _lapping_  at  _Erik’s_  come on his pectoral –  
  
to very assuredly inform with hot raspy breath,  
  
“He has  _very,_  sensitive nipples.”  
  
“Ah, well why didn’t you say so before?”  
  
Brandon’s playful smirk mirrors Erik’s almost completely, and Charles can’t support the lifted position of his head any longer, so lets his head fall back against the pillow.  
  
Christ.

 

Before he can even recover from the image that’s just the lift of his clouded head away, Eri— no, the other one… American Erik – circles his nipple with his tongue and then  _sucks_  softly as his fingers trail up and down his damp inner thigh.  
Erik’s taken the other erect dark pink nipple into his mouth, his rutting against his hipbone now lazy and fluid, and lets his teeth graze the skin that’s so responsive – Charles is having to bite into his wrist to stop his sounds of pleasure shuddering the neighbours from their sleep.   
  
God, how has anyone been sleeping knowing there’s a dirtier, filthier Erik residing in their own building?

And then he redeems the title by taking his two fingers into his mouth - the same that had been  _fingering him_ earlier - makes ridiculous wet sounds, and than uses those licked finger to tweak his nipples.  
  
Erik – he thinks it’s Erik – moves his hand up to take Charles’s wrist down from his mouth. He wants to  _hear._    
  
Charles pants into the air, and making sounds far too obscene for someone who’s only having… his nipples sucked… licked – Christ, one of those handsome bastards is breathing so heavily over him and another – who knows, it could be the same one – is daring to drag his fingers so slowly and lazily and teasingly over his balls and –   
  
He looks up to see who, probably to moan their name out. But when he sees the two men’s tongues meet marginally on their crusade over Charles’s tender skin, they all pause.  
  
Knowingly, they bring their heads up to lock eyes; like features taking in like features. Charles’s order goes unsaid.  
  
It’s just Charles’s most surreal fantasy, isn’t it?   
  
Their lips barely meet before tongues do, and it’s such a delicious sight that Charles makes the effort to sit up, gawking at the men with pupils blown wide.   
  
“Fuck,” Charles breathes. His chest is heaving and his cock is aching for touch, but no—  
  
Charles is going to be the voyeur. He wants to watch, everything. He wants to remember every detail, hell, this is undoubtedly worth remembering.   
  
Their bodies lift to hold each other; heads tilting for more. The sound of lips smacking lips and deep, throaty groans leave Charles adamant he’s in erotic heaven. And certain that this is all a show for him – and that’s confirmed when Erik’s hands go to cup Brandon’s firm rear as his hips buck. Brandon responds by tugging Erik’s bottom lip by his teeth and dragging his tongue along its swollenness.   
  
Charles realises that there’s absolutely no way he’s going to stop himself from saying –

  
  
“Erik… Fuck him.”

 

 

~*~

 

Charles has seen a lot of things.

 

He’s seen plasma beams shoot out of a chest. He’s seen metallic claws emerge from between knuckles. He’s seen gills arise from the surface of facial skin.

 

This, would surpass it all.

 

Erik is slicking his cock with a casual ease. His hands clasp his girth, just like before, but now he’s being _watched_ , so the the movements are thoughtful and sultry. The fine flick of his wrist alone is heightening Charles’s watching pleasure.

Charles would move his hand to do the same to his own, but right now, you can’t get the slightest of movements out of him. And hell, he’d be outperformed anyway – Erik’s way of working his cock is so much more engaging than anything he could do, despite of the delicious ache for attention from that area. 

Brandon’s eyes are flitting from Erik’s cock to his face as he fingers himself. Charles can practically see anticipation bleeding from him with every shift. He’s leaning back on one elbow looking absolutely _devastated_ with lust. Charles can’t help but imagine he himself looks no less the same.

Erik doesn’t look at his non-participating audience as he leans closer to Brandon, hips positioned between spread legs. Brandon grapples for more of him until their lips have met again and Erik’s lubricated cock is rubbing against Brandon’s hole. And then the musician inhales sharply into the kiss; stealing Erik’s breath. Erik shows no signs of entering the dripping centre as he proceeds to rigorously create friction all around it. It’s a wonderful pain, Charles can almost feel it himself, and Brandon is very, very vocal about it.

 

He tears his mouth away from Erik’s to make impatient noises with every shred of integrity he can garner to express his desire to be, namely, fucked by that magnificent cock. 

Brandon’s inability to cope; hands pinned down by Erik’s now shivering and hips quivering in a spasm to meet Erik’s member, fleets into Charles’s mind – superimposing his own restless grief. 

 

“Erik.”

He ceases the frustratingly shortcoming movement of his hips all together and hums in reply. Brandon lets out a loud cry, his back arching as he welcomes the softness of Erik’s lips down his jaw. 

“Let him feel your lovely cock, Erik.” Charles’s low-toned voice croons gently into their ears. When Erik hears Charles crawling over on all fours, he instantly withdraws his restraints on Brandon, only to replace them with wrought iron ones from the bedframe poles which unfurl with liquidity on his command. Charles is quick to block Brandon’s registry so that a perfectly plausible presence continues to pin him down.

“Don’t be such a tease,” Charles breathes against Erik’s ear, nose rubbing his temple. Brandon involuntarily jerks his hips upwards, pleading for attention; and even though he doesn’t want the exhibition of their interactions to end. Brandon’s cock is erect and prominent against Erik’s taut stomach – the defined bumps and grooves of which, Charles is quick to place his hand over as he feels familiar skin. Charles didn’t think he’d find himself here again, but the persuasion is in play; if at least for poor begging, sobbing, moaning Brandon.

“He’s close,” Charles quickly informs Erik in his ear, eyes opening to look at Brandon’s tumultuous state. Erik smirks and wraps a restricting hand over Brandon’s bursting hardness.

“Not just yet,” Erik grimaces, looking evidently amused with Brandon’s agitation. “We haven’t even started.”

Seeing this side of Erik makes Charles feel all kinds of horny, and if he wasn’t still aching from Brandon and pleasantly amused by the spectacle himself, he would’ve flicked Erik’s mind to his compromise any second. He wants to really _see_ Erik’s face as he receives pleasure, and watch the same face on Brandon screwed up with it.

“Look at how much he wants you, Erik,” Charles presses pink lips against Erik’s cheek to say. He adds emphasis on his accent, knowing how much Brandon and Erik both get off to it. He feels Erik’s smile.

“So much… _please,_  just _fuck_ me, I’m begging you – ugh – just – Char— _gah_ … **TELL** him!”

“Oh, Brandon…” Charles sighs, leaning over to the American to peck his bitten lips, almost soothingly. “I think he knows.”

“But I’m about to—”

“You heard him, not just yet,” he calmly interjects Brandon’s shriek. Erik looks delighted, so Charles returns to the mutant to summon him into a passionate embrace. Their mouths fit together perfectly and move co-ordinately, making for movements accompanied by sounds poured out from the back of throats. Their kiss is not a scene to be seen. It’s raw emotion, an affinity for the other man, an attachment made permanent by a bond that’s mental, inherent, and completely real.

Brandon is taken aback by it. He still curses aloud, his hard-on now so swollen that Erik has to readjust his hand, only to find it damp with come that’s imminent from the blocking pressure.

“Erik, you’re making him go crazy. You really ought to _fuck_ him now.”

“As you wish,” Erik smiles at the telepath, kissing his bottom lip one more time before turning his attention to the hand that’s adjusting Erik’s thickness against Brandon’s hole. Then Charles’s hand pulls on his cock, Erik complying with the force, so his head is inside Brandon’s hole. Brandon’s body twitches in response; his tensed muscles awake again. He doesn’t release – he can’t – Charles is holding his body on the periphery, knowing that his body is one thrust away from spurting and frankly, that won’t be fun for his Erik, now would it? So he aids Erik’s constraining of his orgasm, and lifts his hand from Erik’s cock to Brandon’s thigh to enjoy it.

Brandon is reeling off every coital remarking there is. His skin is redder than imaginable, and his skin is so hot, Charles is inclined to put his mouth against it. Erik’s pace isn’t bed-breaking fast, but it’s a steady rocking that’s titillating to watch. Charles looks at the bones of their bodies, the colours of veins, the raking of teeth over lips and the undulations of similar bodies making wonderful sounds. He feels a tiny glint of irritation when Erik’s hand clumsily slips over Brandon’s shaft from the faint leaking. Charles swats his hand away and plants the reassurance into Erik’s mind. He receives a glowing smile in the midst of a pleasured expression coiled up in the tight feeling of Brandon’s hole around his cock. Which is now, completely inside Brandon from what Charles is stunned to see. 

The young professor drags his tongue over Brandon’s belly button, his breath stuttering in response. He then moves to lick the wet droplets that have escaped from Brandon’s cock as though cleaning it off, regardless of the more abundant surge he’s mentally impeding. He even lets the tip of his tongue trail over his slit. Charles discovers that Erik is so captivated by the sight of a pink tongue flickering out from red lips that he brings his grinding to a gradual halt.

The torture of the pause leaves Brandon clawing at air and lifting his hips so desperately, that Charles resorts to leaning away so he can side-line again. He sits back on the bed, now fully aware of his own erection, hard and voluptuously pink. He swallows.

Charles brings a hand to it, but Erik has proficiently managed to use another part of the bed pole to bind his wrists together and pin them above his head; against the remnants of the bedframe. Charles gasps and blinks at Erik, breath hitching somewhere.

“Don’t touch yourself,” he warns with a tilt of his head, before resuming the gorgeous way he gyrates his hips and moves deeply into Brandon. Charles looks at his neglected cock and feels its pulsations in dismay, though he knows he doesn’t want to mysteriously _change his mind_ about the bonds, and Erik knows it too.  Charles can believe Erik has something in mind for him and refrains from entering to maintain the element of surprise.

Erik clamps down on Brandon’s hips forcefully enough to bruise, but Brandon is now chanting affirmative because though he’s been close for minutes now, Charles is ever so slowly releasing his hold. Erik speeds up, slamming most of the way out to slam fully back in again. He tips his head back and lets out a raspy groan that’s crippled with euphoric thrill and release.

Promptly on cue, Brandon’s mouth falls open, his face morphing from _pained-but-pleasured_ to completely and utterly in _heaven._ He comes thick and fast in fairly profuse amounts, considering it's his second tonight. He looks as though his orgasm has again, surpassed any level of fathoming, any point of his autonomous control and every expectation he has ever had. 

Erik has coincidentally lost control of the restraints on Brandon, and Charles is quick to feed him the illusion that his hands have been there the whole time. Erik looks complacently at Charles when iron reforming into bed poles is not questioned. 

That complacency quickly turns into something else. 

 

Eyes with wide, fully blown pupils dash from his cock, to his face, to his tied hands. Erik wets his lips in contemplation. 

Charles’s stomach coils in anticipation.

Erik pulls out of Brandon’s limp body and stops to catch his breath for a while, shooting Brandon one of his tooth-baring grins. Brandon, however, is seemingly unable of even retaining sufficient oxygen let alone being competently able to return the smile. 

Erik looks smug and impressed with the effect. Even if he’s not fully responsible for all of it. He turns to look at who that lacking is owed to, and finds himself staring into deliberately widened blue eyes.   

Brandon is so close to falling asleep, Charles comprehends, that he may just nod off lying vertically with tangled arms and a frothy stomach that will not fair out pleasantly in the morning. So he inserts _clean – bathroom – sleep_ in the heavily tranquil mind and watches him move up and off the bed before disappearing into the bathroom. 

 

The iron bonds loosen just a tad bit.

 

“Turn around.”

 

Erik’s voice is flat, but his eyes are doing little to conceal his uber thrill from the sight of steak on a plate. 

And it turns out that Charles’s metaphoric comparison of himself isn’t too far off, for when he turns his body over – wrists twisting while still confined, knees on the pillows and arse curved outward for attention – Erik’s tongue dives into the cleft of his arse. 

 

“Oh, _fuck,_ that’s—”

The divine wet tongue with a texture soothing against the ache, and tender against his skin draws long, long licks. Charles ducks his head and digs it into his arms, sweat pooling at his chest and forehead.

His cock is still hard and plump, paining him for regard, but he’s tightly bound and Erik’s hands are pressed on his _hips_ , taming erratic impulses to a hot tongue.

Each thrash of his tongue leaves a shiver down his spine, a beckoning from his cock, an involuntary yearning for more _, endlessness_ – 

Erik changes the position of his head, his tongue now _stroking_ inside him, gentle and dripping with saliva. He’s already moist inside from Brandon and – Erik is essentially licking _Brandon’s_ come and – _Christ_ – they’ve all tasted each _other_ –

“ _Oh_ … I… Err—rikkk… fuck, Erik, holy _fuck_ …”

The bonds abate, disappearing into a flimsy pattern so that Charles can bring his hands down.

“Don’t come just yet.”

“ _ERIK!_ Wh—”

“ _Please_.”

Erik tugs him by his hips and guides him to flip him over swiftly until Charles’s cock is thick and tall before him.

 

It takes just the single lick of his tongue.

 

It’s _ecstasy_ inside him and now he’s erupting, shockwaves of his pleasure rushing through every crevice of his body until he feels weightless. 

Erik looks slightly concerned – he wasn’t expecting it so soon – but he’s taken it all into his mouth and he’s swallowing it; Adam’s apple bobbing. He’s drinking him in again, but this time, he does it seamlessly – shutting his eyes and making blissful noises, like Charles is his favourite flavour _everything._  

Charles cards his fingers through his hair and when he comes off his cock with a _slurp,_ he brings his head up for a kiss that’s wreaked and abject with love and adoration. Erik collects him in his arms and sucks into the kiss in a way that lifts Charles from off the bed. Charles grins.

Brandon emerges from the doorframe to find them in this locked embrace, eyes half-lidded and bodies lethargic. He’s showered, though, and this amuses Charles a little too much.

“Why don’t you join us, Brandon?” Charles asks, patting the bed sheets on his other side.

Brandon stops mid-strut and quirks his eyebrow up.

“I’m Erik.”

 

Charles blinks.

 

He smiles, looks at them both – stoic in the dim lighting of the room – and lets his smile falter.

Charles squints his eyes and looks from the man standing naked and tall by the bed, to the man with arms circled around him.

Then the two other men chuckle heartily and Charles rolls his eyes.

“Had you fooled for a while, eh?” Brandon sniggers. He crawls onto the bed and lays down beside Charles, body stretching out on the bed.

“No…” Charles drawls, peals of Erik’s laughter filling his pink tinted ears. “Okay, yes, for a _second_ \- but don’t ever do that again, okay?” he says innocently. Then they both laugh again, with Charles shaking his head dramatically.

“Good night, Erik,” says Erik.

“Good night, Brandon,” says Brandon.

 

Well, shit. This will be interesting. 

 

 

 

 

~*~

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise if it is implied that Brandon's (serious) condition from the movie is not respected. This is solely light-hearted smut for a prompt. I mean no offence/disrespect.


End file.
